


and i'm home

by dreadfulbeauties



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadfulbeauties/pseuds/dreadfulbeauties
Summary: No one tells you about second loves or second chances. Percival finds out that yes, there are second loves and that sometimes they're cut short.
Relationships: Gareth/Percival (Arthurian)
Kudos: 2





	and i'm home

Percival does not know who he expects to come to his side after the funeral.

He is not sure if he expects anyone at all. That isn’t Galahad that lies in the casket - eyes closed and skin too pale and dressed in black. Black does not suit him, it is too dark and dull. This is not the world he is supposed to live in, this is not the way Galahad is supposed to die - not only twenty years old to buried in the catacombs. He should be growing old and gray, dying after years of changing the world a little bit at a time.

It is hot and sunny when Percival steps outside. He does not want to see Lancelot’s face - he does not want to see a father mourn for a son that he may as well not even have. Lancelot was never Galahad’s father. He never acted like a father should, at least. But the world is a grotesque place, and people act and things happen the way they ought not to. Percival learned that, and wishes he didn’t.

It is Gareth who approaches him afterwards, who sits next to him outside. Gareth is the one to reach out and squeeze Percival’s hand - just two years older than him, twenty-two. He does not know Gareth very well, save for the fact that he is supposedly the kindest of the four brothers from far far away in Orkney.

“Left early?” Gareth says. He speaks in code, but Percival does not quite know how to respond.

Percival nods. “It was hot and stuffy in there.” He knows what he really means, though - the words translate to the fact that he could not bear to look at the face of a false father or the face of someone who was the only person who believed the world to be what Percival thought it was. 

He is not sure if Gareth understands the code he speaks in. He does not know what sort of world Gareth sees. He does not know if it is the same world he sees. But he at least has one person to help him stand again so he does not drown.

* * *

He has to tell himself that Gareth is not a second Galahad for him. Gareth’s hair is red like fire, while Galahad’s was blonde like gold. The way they are is different, too - Gareth’s more closed-off. He is not unkind, but he speaks as if his kindness is a conscious choice and not a product of wistful believing that the world is not the harsh place it is. But he is someone that will not force Percival back down to Earth with gravity, and that is something Percival likes about him.

He is not sharp-edged like his younger brother Mordred is, all steel eyes and cold words towards Percival - Mordred does not say a word, yet somehow Percival thinks that the words “It’s all your fault” are always on the tip of his tongue. As much as Percival wishes to not believe it, Mordred is right. It really is all his fault. Were it not for him, Galahad might not be far away in the catacombs.

Percival tries to pick up the broken pieces and carry on, but it is hard. Gareth helps him, yet the shards of what he once believed in still cut his hands. He is still known as Percival, the most gentle of Camelot’s knights, but it is not the same.

“You need to hold still.” Gareth frowns at him. They have returned from patrol tonight like they have on other knights, and have defeated the beast they sought but not without gaining fresh wounds in the process. Percival tells himself he should be used to the feel of pain by now, yet the cuts on his back and arms still sting.

“Sorry,” Percival says. Gareth takes a deep breath before he continues cleaning the blood away, and Percival flinches again, letting out a yelp.

“Damn!” he curses. “Can you just hold still for a moment?!”

And then Percival sees Mordred - Mordred silently asking him why he could not have changed a thing, even though he’s thought that there would be a way past that - and suddenly he would prefer the pain of fresh wounds he can’t completely tolerate to something like this. 

Percival does not know what Gareth sees, but whatever it is he sees makes his eyes widen. When he raises his hand Percival backs away and wishes that he had not.

“…Sorry,” Gareth says. “Shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Percival shrugs. “‘S fine. I should’ve stayed still and not gotten upset.”

Gareth shakes his head. He picks at the thin string of his eyepatch.

“There’s nothing wrong in crying, you know. If something’s hurting, I don’t see the need to keep quiet about it.” He gives Percival a smile, something shining and soft against all the rough edges and harsh outlines. Percival smiles back at Gareth, and can only think about how they both know it’s not true.

* * *

There is still rust that tarnishes the metal, but it can still work even if the beauty it once held is gone.

It is Gareth who pulls him away and moves in for the kill. He’s crying and laughing all at once - Galahad, Mordred, disappointment, failure, hate, love, no more, no more, pain, pain - the words all flash and clatter around in his head and his heartbeat and sobbing and laughter all rattle in his eardrums. Percival is trapped in a bloody tandem of hacking, slashing and crying and laughing - he cries for what he cannot get back and laughs because the pain of it all is something that he can just push away if he tries hard enough. The sword feels too big in his hands and he thinks that maybe he’ll be torn to pieces by the beast, and since he cannot feel the pain right now he does not care.

And then Gareth pushes him out of the way and moves in for the kill, his sword slicing through the beast’s flesh in a single, nauseating stroke that leaves it torn in two.

Kay reaches out to touch Percival’s blood-coated shoulders, ready to haul him back. “Percy-”

“Please,” he begs now that he does not have the hunt to take it all away, “Don’t touch me.”

Kay opens his mouth to respond but Gareth is the one who speaks up. His armor and sword are splattered red in the feeble torchlight.

“I’ll bring him back,” he says. Gareth lifts Percival off the ground and into his arms. “He’s exhausted and wounded - he needs to heal.”

Percival rests his head against Gareth’s chest as he is carried back, letting the quiet and constant beating of his heart occupy the silence that was once a chaotic symphony of things he shouldn’t have had to hear. There are stars out tonight, faint and glimmering in the near black sky. He’s got scratches and cuts all over him and if it weren’t for that one question he has on his mind he might just close his eyes and fall asleep here and now.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

No response, and Percival wonders if Gareth didn’t hear him.

“I try to show kindness to everyone,” he says. “Besides, you’re kind and you deserve kindness in return.”

“I don’t,” Percival says.

“Why not?”

 _Because I’m weak_ , he thinks, _And I keep dwelling on the past long after I should stop thinking about it and just let it fade to memory. Because I’m stupid for thinking the fairy tales I grew up on were something real, something tangible. Because your brother hates me for not being good enough and he’s right._

But all of that can’t possibly be the right answer. He fumbles for a moment. “Because-”

“Well you’re wrong. Because you do deserve kindness. And I’ve already said why.”

Percival doesn’t know what to say. So he lets his eyelids droop and he dreams of struggling against the current of a river, struggling to stay afloat.

* * *

Gareth hands him a pear: Pockmarked, yellow-green, sinking a little when Percival presses his fingers too deep against it.

“Thought you might be hungry.”

Gareth always eats his food, Percival notices, as if he’ll never eat again. Crunching past the thin skin of the pear and tearing through the soft white flesh of the fruit underneath. It’s almost animalistic, and he has seen the look in Gareth’s eyes and the way his fist clenches when someone at the dining hall tosses their saliva-covered food to the ground.

He takes a bite and even though the fruit is bruised it is soft and sweet.

“Thank you.”

They eat in silence for a few moments. Summer is coming to an end; red and brown replace the green of the scenery, and the humidity dries away.

“You seem happy,” Gareth tells him. “I’m glad.”

“What makes you think I haven’t been happy?”

He and Gareth both know - because he’s still chasing after a dream that’s long been proven to only be a dream, because he still sees a glint of gold amidst the red that he shouldn’t see after all this time.

“I don’t know. But you seem so… relaxed now, so at ease. I’m glad.”

Then he leans over to press a sticky, pear-flavored kiss to Percival’s forehead. Warmth engulfs him in the coming chill of autumn.

“Hope that you really are happy.”

And for a little while after that, they are stolen kisses and wet leaves crunching under boots in autumn. There is something that they have and while it isn’t the dream Percival clung to for so many years, there is at least something tangible that he can hold onto in the waking world. Water may fill their lungs and they may drown in the river, but they’ll go down together. The hole in Percival’s heart is still there, seams jagged and unable to mend, but they are trying. At least they’re trying to mend what cannot be.

“D’you think Mordred hates me?”

They lie together at the crackling fire. They forgot the blankets, so Gareth spreads his cloak over the both of them, and if they can’t fall asleep they can at least gaze up at the bits and pieces of the night sky they can see through the maze of trees.

“I don’t think so. He’s sort of withdrawn, but I wouldn’t say he hates you.”

“Withdrawn” isn’t the word Percival would use to describe what he’d heard from Mordred’s mouth. Withdrawn does not capture the mutters of “It’s all your fault” and “You’re so weak” and “You are nothing” that sometimes he hears and sometimes he can almost hear. Withdrawn does not describe the icy cold Percival feels wash over him with Mordred.

“You’re certain? Because sometimes he’ll… talk to me and it seems like he does. He says things that I think are meant to hurt me, but I can’t say for sure. The thing is though, I still want to give him a chance, and I don’t want to hate him. But he still keeps saying those things.”

Gareth sits up. The warmth of the cloak is leached from Percival’s body.

“He doesn’t talk much about you. I didn’t know he says these sorts of things to you, and-”

“Really, it’s not something to worry about, not something you should-”

Gareth sighs and lies back down. “He’s far away from here, so you’re right. But when we get back I’m going to have to talk to him. I don’t understand why he hates you so much, or at least why he acts like does from what you said. It’s unfair. It’s no one’s fault, I thought things were at least stable for now. And yet he’s my brother - my little brother wouldn’t say or do those things. He’s just quiet and would rather not say a thing at all.”

He curls an arm around Percival, shifting under his cloak. “For now, though… I don’t know who to believe.”

Again, Percival cannot tell what is a dream and what is real. He can’t tell if it’s real or not when he finally returns all the kisses Gareth’s given him before, lifting his hair out of his face to press his lips to his forehead. Gareth never touches Percival’s lips - they both know why - but this is enough.

“Enough. We’re tired. Rest.”

He falls asleep tangled in Gareth’s arms that night. Or maybe he’s awake. Again, he does not know.

* * *

Gareth throws the letter into the fire when Percival sees him. They both watch the flames swallow up the crumpled paper, and it sinks into the ashes.

“I can’t do it,” Gareth declares. His voice is quiet and cracking. “I can’t betray the man who knighted me - the man who trained me-”

“Lancelot?”

“Him and the queen - Mordred and Agravaine told me - they want me to tell the king - I can’t, I can’t-”

He pulls Percival close and embraces him as if he will slip away under dark waters if he lets go. Percival knows the cold glares of Lancelot and how he’s drowning in his presence, knows a father that really isn’t a father. He thought that it was all Lancelot’s fault that his own son died, because he treated him as if he was never a son to him but a burden that weighed too heavy on his back. He still thinks that, but it is less knowledge and more thought. For if Gareth goes through and gives out the whole truth then Lancelot will be killed and the queen burned to ashes at the stake - even with what Percival knows of Lancelot, he does not want him dead.

“What are you going to do?” He says. There are tears wet on his shirt - Gareth’s tears. He’s never seen Gareth cry before now.

Gareth pulls away. His nose is red and his one eye blinks, watery and dull. “I won’t tell. I’m going to warn Lancelot - he ought to know. I don’t want him dead. I can’t bring myself to be the one with blood on my hands.”

Then he takes Percival back into his arms. “I don’t want to lose you, either. Let’s just run away - there’s no Grail to worry about, we can just leave and never come back, can’t we?”

They have nowhere to go. Percival’s dreams have taken hold of Gareth, again making them drift farther and farther away from what is real and plausible in the river’s current.

“We can’t. You can just warn Lancelot. We’ll stay here. We’ll deal with Mordred.”

He closes his eyes. He does not know how they will pick up the broken pieces and try to fix them - Lord knows if they even can - but there’s a tiny, flickering flame that won’t be snuffed out that says they can. They can fix this without any blood being shed.

Gareth kisses him, and it’s on the lips this time. He’s taller and rougher than Galahad, but he isn’t the thorns that make him bleed like Mordred does. He’s the leaves of the flower, not quite the soft petals but not as prone to tearing or bruising. Then he pulls away.

“Sorry, but I was worried I wouldn’t get to… kiss you like that.”

Percival leans up. Even though Gareth has pulled away, the feel of his lips still buzz on his. He ruffles Gareth’s faded red hair.

“It’s okay. Really, it is. I liked it.”

And then they are drowning again, and they wonder if there’s really a way to fight the river’s current before the end of it all.

* * *

They say nothing about the kiss, but they speak one last time.

Even though Percival’s legs struggle to support his body and the blood stains his clothes, he still drags Gareth away from it all as much as he can. He feels the blood dripping down his mouth, feels the ragged cut underneath his shirt that’s Mordred’s reminder of what he deserves. He remembers Mordred pulling out his sword amidst the chaos, and while he said nothing this time he knows. He knows that Gareth saying he could not bring himself to speak out of the person who’d trained him for all those years is what led Mordred to this, for how could his own brother pick the one responsible for it all over him?

They’re drowning and it isn’t a dream. It’s real. But they’ll be pulled into the watery depths together, at least.

He collapses at last and knows he will not get up. At least he stares up at the rising of the sun in its glory of reds and oranges and yellows cooling into blue. At least he will not die and fall into the dizzying abyss of stars.

“Are… are you alright?” Gareth’s voice is creaky at his side.

This is how it ends. He covers the blood soaking through his armor and reaches over to pat Gareth’s bloodied hand. Then he grabs hold of it, for it will be the last thing he feels.

“I’m alright. We won. It’s going to be alright.”

Gareth smiles at him, teeth coated with blood.

“I’m so glad… Wake me up when we get back, okay?”

They’re both lying to each other. But this is like the old days of playing pretend when they didn’t know. So Percival pretends that it is the truth, that they will wake up this time even though the darkness clouds his vision and the dull pain in his stomach is pulling him down.

“I’ll wake you up. I promise.”

And then he pulls Gareth into the waters with them. They’re sucked into a dream one last time. He plays pretend with someone else. 

Things aren’t going to change now that in death they’ve left it all behind.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "and i'm home" by wowaka. fellow madoka fans (and fellow kyosaya fans) may recall that.
> 
> this is an old fic i wrote in 2019. my version of gareth's changed a lot in terms of personality and characterization since then - he's a lot more like kyoko sakura now.
> 
> (my favorite arthurian ship is actually galahad/percival. i just have a lot of ships that aren't nearly as popular because of my very specific headcanons i have for the arthurian mythos. but don't worry. i'll get back to my mordred/percival story soon enough - i'm outlining the second chapter now.)
> 
> thanks for reading. stay safe and take care, everyone. comments are always appreciated.


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